King of Pain
by blue shine
Summary: Alternate version of events (with some non-alternate dialogue from the show thrown in) for Anslo Garrick - Conclusion on: Red is rescued in the church, but his reprieve is short-lived.
1. Unseen Hurt

**Summary:** Alternate scene, Anslo Garrick - Conclusion: Liz and Mr. Kaplan choose the church.

**Disclaimer:** The Blacklist does not belong to me!

I also do not own/have not written any of the lyrics or quotes which may appear as credited within this story; intended usage is merely to complement narrative and thematic elements of my original work.

**A/N:** The image of Liz discovering Red was something I had in my head over New Year's in New York. One-shot for now!

* * *

><p><span><strong>I: Unseen Hurt<br>**

* * *

><p><strong>BALTIMORE, MARYLAND<strong>

Liz traced the movements of the armed lookouts from their vantage point across the street.

"Stay in the car," Mr. Kaplan said, her voice low and even. "My orders are to keep you safe." Dembe suddenly joined them, jumping in the rear passenger seat behind Liz.

Inside, one of Garrick's men alerted to him the approaching hostiles. "We've got company."

Anslo nodded, hearing it for himself.

"What about him?"

Looking at Red, Anslo sniffed. Disappointed didn't begin to cover it, but that was that. Fitch was just going to have to make some new arrangements. "Leave him," he said.

The man who had been bracing the pulley system released his hold, forcing Red to stand on his own as he did upon arriving. The measure of just how much he'd come to rely on this additional support hit Red in an instant as his knees buckled under him. He would have been fine with the prospect of kneeling, but the chain was not long enough, and he painfully pulled himself back to a standing position.

Shouldering his weapon, Anslo walked past and gave Red a sad, lopsided smile. He saluted with two fingers. "Till we meet again, Red."

Liz's eyes locked on Dembe in the rearview. Mr. Kaplan was just getting word that Garrick was nowhere in sight.

"No, we haven't seen him come out on this side," she confirmed, peering out the window. "Let me know when—"

Abruptly, Liz pulled on her door handle and hopped out of the car, making for the entrance that Red's team had cleared.

Mr. Kaplan watched her in disbelief before turning around to meet Dembe's similarly startled face. "Christ," she muttered.

The interior of the old nave was starkly lit. As Liz's eyes adjusted, she saw a few of Red's men occupying the far end, their stances vigilant against any remaining combatants. One of them moved to consult with another, and the overhead light caught something black and white in their midst. Something suspended from a chain.

"Oh, my God," whispered Liz. She ran the rest of the way to where Red was standing—barely, from the looks of it, his arms extended over his head and held fast by cuffs that bound his wrists together. The guard nearest her nodded.

"You're good. We got you covered."

Breathlessly, Liz went up to him. His eyes were shut, the left side of his face streaked with blood. She instinctively reached for him, the realization of never having done so occurring to her as she tentatively cupped his cheek. "Red? Hey. Hey."

Red's mouth opened slightly but no words came, and it was then that Liz noticed how badly he was shaking. She moved her hand from his cheek to his forehead, feeling the alarming heat there. "God, he's burning up."

"Yes," said Mr. Kaplan, who had arrived at her side with Dembe and was scrutinizing Reddington for herself. "They must have given him something."

Liz turned back to catch Red wincing, as though she were somehow causing him pain. She removed her hand, and his eyes proceeded to open a crack. Any relief she expected to gain from Red looking back at her, however, was quickly dispelled at the sight of his groggy, bloodshot stare.

Unbeknownst to Liz, Red was enjoying his view quite a bit: the eyes that were so, incredibly blue, the smudged makeup from one hellacious day that ringed them . . . The surprisingly naked concern they held for him, though—something he hadn't seen directed his way in he cared not to think how long—that was the icing on the cake. His lashes fluttered closed again.

"Red." The cuffs restraining him were too high for her to adequately reach, and Liz turned for Dembe. "We need to get him down," she blurted, needlessly.

Dembe moved behind Red and faced her. "Hold him," he instructed, reaching for the hook.

Liz obliged, hugging Red around his torso and feeling the weight of him sag into her as Dembe unlatched him. Red grunted at the newfound release, the chain above him swinging idly to and fro like a giant, ghastly pendulum.

"Let's get him on the floor," said Liz, but Red made awkwardly for the chair Anslo had used instead, and they helped him sit. At once his body pitched forward in an apparent attempt to relieve some unseen hurt. Liz bit her lip as she looked down at him.

"I'll get medics here," Mr. Kaplan said into her ear, retrieving a phone from her coat as she brushed by. The reminder prompted Liz to reach for her own phone.

"Yes," she verified her identity, after giving her badge number to Headquarters. "Put me through to Assistant Director Cooper, please?" She began to pace the floor, stopping when her boss's voice came on the line.

"Keen."

"Sir. I found Reddington."

There was a pause on the other end. "Alive?"

"Yeah," she said, glancing over at his hunched figure.

"Where are you?"

"We're at 527 Hollins Ferry Road, Baltimore. The site is secured, but Garrick's gone."

"'We'?" Harold's voice was clipped. "Tell me, Agent Keen, which part of 'stand down' was unclear to you?"

She hesitated. "This wasn't—"

"Never mind. We'll deal with that later. How is he?"

Liz turned from Red, moving slowly in the opposite direction. "They did a number on him, but EMTs are on the way. What's going on there? Should I bring him back to the Post Office?"

"Just sit tight for a minute. I'll contact you shortly."

Liz hung up with Cooper and walked back to Red and Dembe, who was standing protectively over him. She nodded at him, then knelt in front of Red. His head was still bowed, and she regarded the fuzz of his hair.

"Hey. We've got medics on the way. Real ones this time," she added gently, in the hope of some reaction. Red raised his head, but the battered, twitching features that met her only served to underscore the chain of events that had led them to this spot, and Liz all but flinched under a fresh and dizzying wave of guilt. Whatever Red had endured here, it was all because of her.

"I'm sorry I lost you," she breathed, meaning it.

Red blinked lethargically as he focused on her, hoping he wasn't shivering as much as it felt like he was. "S'all right."

A rueful smile crossed Liz's face. "Slipped on a banana peel," she said, shrugging.

For the first time in what seemed like a very long time, Red smiled back. His eyes flickered over the bloody scratches that Liz bore herself: abrasions she must have picked up right after she'd disappeared from view. "Glad you're OK, Lizzy."

"Yeah," she said, exhaling shortly. "Now we're just going to make sure you are."

A blasé expression lifted Red's eyebrows in a familiar, comforting way. "I've had worse."

Liz glanced at Dembe, who looked encouraged as well.

"How's Ressler," asked Red, "since I can see you want to keep me talking here."

"In surgery," she replied, nodding. "They save that leg, it's thanks to you."

"Mmm." Red suddenly motioned towards Mr. Kaplan with his chin. "Mr. Kaplan's fun, isn't she?"

Liz followed Red's gaze. "She is very helpful to have around."

"That she is."

Liz looked up at Dembe again before returning her attention to Red. "I'm sorry about Luli," she said quietly.

Red shuddered, conveniently avoiding her eyes. "Me too," he acknowledged, his voice like gravel.

Having taken a long and thoroughly numbing look at the box and its surface sprayed with blood when she was dropped back at the Post Office, Liz could only imagine what the view must have been from the inside.

"Hey—" she said, brushing his arm, "we're going to find him."

He let out a soft, mirthless chuckle. "Oh, something tells me I'm going to first."

Liz frowned but didn't have time to ask what he meant, as Cooper called her back then with orders on where to report with Reddington after he was treated for his injuries. All immediate threats neutralized, she could feel the adrenaline of the last few hours start to ebb, even as the gravity of the day's events began to settle over her like some invisible, pernicious burden. The wail of an ambulance outside signaled the arrival of the EMTs, and she readied herself to meet them.

"Lizzy."

She turned at the sound of his voice.

"I'm glad I scared you," said Red, the weary smile on his bloodied face lending a further irony to his words. "I was beginning to wonder, you know."

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><p><strong>END 1?**

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><p>There's a little black spot on the sun today<br>It's the same old thing as yesterday  
>There's a black hat caught in a high treetop<br>There's a flagpole rag and the wind won't stop

. . .


	2. Brought Down Close

**Summary:** Alternate version of events (with some non-alternate dialogue from the show thrown in) for Anslo Garrick - Conclusion on: Red is rescued in the church, but his reprieve is short-lived.

**Disclaimer:** The Blacklist does not belong to me!

I also do not own/have not written any of the lyrics or quotes which may appear as credited within this story; intended usage is merely to complement narrative and thematic elements of my original work.

**A/N:** OK, officially no longer a one-shot. ;) Not entirely sure of the length of this yet, but I have wanted to revisit the rather awesome Anslo Garrick episodes pretty much since they aired and decided it made sense to add on to the AU I already had. The presence of literally one follower also helped, in large part, so thanks, guys—I hope you enjoy, tentative though the progress may be (and already has been these past few months): I've a feeling Anslo, and striking the right balance with both his character and his relationship with Red, is gonna be tough!

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><p><span><strong>II: Brought Down Close<strong>

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><p><strong>WASHINGTON, D.C.<strong>

"Have you heard from him?"

Barely through the last of the Post Office's new security checkpoints, Liz looked at Cooper and the waiting faces of Meera and Aram. "No," she replied slowly, assuming the obvious. "Reddington?"

"He hasn't checked in like I asked him to," said Cooper. "I was hoping he might have with you, and we hadn't lost him again."

She shook her head, thinking of Red's comment the night of Frederick Barnes, how he could cease to exist in sixty seconds if he wanted to. "Who left with him on Tuesday?" she asked, though in truth the answer did not much interest her. In her mind, she was already running possibilities, seeking answers.

"Mr. Reddington was complaining about being tired, and Hastings and Zaworski accompanied him to a place in Silver Spring for the night," said Aram. "They're, uh, well, they're still not really sure how he got by them."

An unwelcome thought, the possibility of which would never have occurred to her until the moment Red turned up silent and trembling on a hook, gripped Liz suddenly. "They don't think—they don't think somebody got to him, do they?"

"There's nothing to suggest that at first blush, no," Meera replied.

"While they work the scene there, I want all of the intel we have on Garrick," said Cooper, addressing Liz again. "I know Ressler's recovering still, but he's your first stop."

"Yes, sir." Liz went to grab some notes from her desk and headed out again. She decided to stop home first and take Hudson for a quick walk before going to the hospital, figuring she could use the time to clear her head.

Life, of course, had been strange since the day she started this job and Red inserted himself smack-dab into the center of everything, but with the events of Tuesday, so much had changed all over again. The stakes were higher. Lives lost, lives almost lost. And the person at the root of all of it knew her now; knew what she looked like.

The only good thing about any of this was that it was a distraction from Dad.

Most days, she cried at least once on the way to somewhere and wondered if anybody ever saw this, whether in their rearview or while stopped alongside her. Probably not, she decided (at least behind her sunglasses anyway), but a small and childish part of her always hoped someone would notice. Then, whenever she got home, if Tom wasn't there for some reason, she literally cried until she couldn't breathe, and her eyes burned in secret for the rest of the night. She had come to realize just how lucky she was to have Tom, though. He'd been more than supportive through the grieving process, and she found solace in his company.

Liz pulled up to their street and parked. Hudson was there to meet her at the door as always, tail wagging.

"Hey, buddy," she greeted back, moving past him inside. She was about to hang her bag up when she glimpsed the apple on the kitchen table.

Her heart dropped. No. It wasn't possible . . .

Liz took immediate stock of her surroundings, panic setting in despite Hudson's apparent calm. She stepped forward in trepidation. As she drew closer, she could see there was a note tucked beneath the apple, and she went to pick it up. The message was scrawled in red ink:

_THE BIG ONE OF THESE—HOWEVER YOU CAN. WILL CALL._

_Red_

Liz's eyes trailed up to meet the empty house in front of her. She thought of the van she knew was parked outside. The mandated surveillance on all Post Office personnel until Garrick's inside man was rooted out meant she would have to make like she was going back to work and somehow leave from there. Assuming she really was going, that is. She looked down to Hudson for the answer. He blinked up at her patiently, his tongue coming out to briefly touch his nose.

"Not to worry, bud. Walk comes first."

As she retrieved his leash and ushered him to the door, her mind was already made up. Ressler was just going to have to wait until the morning.

»»««

Fitch was angry about the thwarted handover of Reddington, it turned out. Anslo didn't really care. If anyone should be well cross right now, it was him.

"Unfuckingbelievable," he muttered after hanging up with him.

Carranza glanced at him from across the room. "We still leaving tonight? Milan is only a week away."

Anslo shook his head, his eyes roaming the floor. "Mr. Fitch made promises to me, and I'm not about to be robbed of that because of happenstance. I just have to find him before he does, that's all." He rose from his seat, draining his glass.

"And lucky for me now," he told his friend, a slow smile turning on his face as he wiped his mouth with his thumb, "I know _just_ how to make old Red come running."

»»««

**NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK**

He'd called her from some pay phone or burner, with instructions to meet at Rockefeller Center at 6:00. The sun had already set an hour and a half ago, and Liz adjusted her scarf as she walked down Fifth Avenue, feeling anxious. What news did he have for her, if any? Would he be back to full strength, embarrassed by the condition she had found him in? No, she decided just as quickly: no matter what his current state, Red didn't seem the type to feel embarrassed about—well, anything.

It did appear he was taking every precaution for meeting with her, selecting what had to be one of the most congested spots on the planet this time of year, but then maybe this was also the last place Red thought people would look for him, she considered, glimpsing the giant lighted snowflakes on the storefront of Saks as she crossed at 49th. While she didn't have all the details surrounding his disappearance on Christmas Eve some twenty years ago, she'd still heard enough and spent enough time with him to know there had to be more to it than what his official file read. He must hate Christmas, she thought with some sadness.

Passing under light-encrusted trees, Liz turned at the line of flags surrounding the ice skating rink. The 76-foot Norway spruce had just been lit yesterday, and people were taking pictures everywhere. She spotted Dembe, who gave her a subtle nod. The reality that Luli's death had knocked Red's team down to one was hard to ignore as she acknowledged him back.

Liz didn't see Red anywhere but knew Dembe would have a visual on him, and on top of the Concourse, behind Prometheus and the fountain he hovered over, she found him—wearing a navy knit cap, a seeming preponderance of coats, and jeans. Jeans, Liz confirmed, with more than a little incredulity as she approached. A coffee cup rested on the ledge before him, and the sight of him so defended against the cold made Baltimore, where she'd never felt the skin of anyone so hot in her life, seem like a lifetime ago. Apart from the cut healing above his eye, nothing else was overtly different about him, but the combined effect was enough to suggest the FBI may have never found him, had he not turned himself in. Liz joined Red's side, looking at the skaters moving below.

"Don't you just love New York at Christmas?" he murmured, taking a sip from his beverage.

Liz's head shook in silent wonder. Just when she thought she might understand something about this man, he managed to prove her wrong. "Yeah," she agreed, scanning the tableau for herself, trying to see it through his eyes.

Red smiled, lifting his head to regard the Manhattan sky, nearly as bright as day and brought down close in the reflection of light against clouds. "They say this winter's gonna be a bad one. Calling for snow early next week, as a matter of fact."

"You follow weather reports now?"

"I follow everything," said Red. "So," his languid voice sang to her, if not very playfully, "_how's_ the F-BI?"

"Looking for you. You're our new number one."

"Oh, I bet I am," he said around a dark chuckle, again reminding her of their last encounter. She suddenly wanted more than anything to hear a genuine laugh out of him.

"Donald still on the mend?" he asked her.

"Yeah." She faced the rink, feeling, for some reason, the need to grant him that small privacy for her next question. "How 'bout you?"

Red's eyes also remained in front of him. "I'm not setting one foot in the Post Office until I'm done getting to the bottom of this," he said, and for a second Liz thought he hadn't heard her. "As I'm sure you're all aware, you have a mole."

At this, she nodded, looking off at the changing colored lights and rushing water of the fountain. "We are."

Red turned, finally and properly taking in the sight of her. From two hundred miles away, Anslo's words needled him.

_The girl. The agent. I want to know who she is._

"You needn't look so guilty by association, Lizzy. It doesn't flatter you. And besides—you went against your boss's orders to find me." He put his hand to his chest. "You used _my_ people to find me. At the risk of making you even more uncomfortable than I already have these past few months, I'm touched." When his suggestion was met with no protest, he returned to his coffee.

Liz continued to watch the water tumble and fall. She knew exactly what she _should_ be doing right now, but there were just so many questions. Most of all, she wanted to know why: Why'd you do it? Why walk straight into that man's waiting arms for me? Regardless of what the future held, try as she might, she could not shake the feeling that things were different between them now. Forever.

"So why do this in person," she did ask, finally—"why not over the phone?"

On the other side of the ice, a very small boy went down on his backside and was promptly helped to his feet by his older brother. Red's mind flashed to Sam. God, Sam. He could still feel his body fighting underneath him; still hear Elizabeth, tense and oblivious, halfway across the country.

"I screwed up," he said in a low voice, the admission at once surprising and vague. Liz had a feeling he was going to leave it at that, which he did.

"Anslo?" she pressed.

His head shook incomprehensibly. "He knows about you now."

"You're forgetting that _I_ don't know about me still," she replied. "About why I'm so important to you?"

"Lizzy," said Red, smiling thinly. "As you may be forgetting, I've been through a tre_men_dous physical ordeal. My hands have finally stopped shaking long enough to hold a hot beverage, the likes of which, I might add, is the only thing keeping a merciless headache at bay."

Liz saw the deflection for what it was, but the fact remained—perhaps one of the most unsettling things to come out of all of this—that Red must have been conditioned to withstand what the doctors said he had under Anslo. When? And by whom? Emboldened, she met his eyes.

"I've never seen anyone in that state," she told him. "When we found you, you know?"

"Hmm," Red chortled. "You should talk to Agent Malik."

Master of deflection indeed. "Garrick and his team . . ." she went on, undeterred, "do you think they'll try again?"

"I don't know."

Liz paused, hating to sound melodramatic, but the concern was real. "What if they come after me?" she asked.

Red held her worried gaze, his lips pushing out very far. "Then I'll come after you."

She believed him, of course—and maybe it was just that she needed some levity in that moment, but between his grim and healing face and the inescapable Christmas all around them, a funny thought struck Liz then, and a smile lapsed across her face. Red peered at her, his own expression softening.

"What?"

"Nothing. I was just thinking of _It's a Wonderful Life_, you know . . . Not like you're my guardian angel or anything," she quickly prefaced, already regretting the decision to say any of this out loud, "but when George tells Clarence, 'Well, you look about like the kind of an angel I'd get.'"

"'Sort of a fallen angel, aren't you?'" Red quoted, not missing a beat. He laughed softly. "Yeah. Always loved George. And Clarence. Please, though—" he said, his tone suddenly derisive as he raised his cup and held it there while he finished talking, "don't worry about _Ans_lo."

He drank from his coffee. Liz stared at him. Never mind that _Ans_lo was the one who last had you by both wrists, Red.

Lowering his cup again, Red hunched into the Concourse's granite ledge while simultaneously angling closer to Liz. "With everything that's happened," he said, "I know you're feeling rudderless right now, but you shouldn't."

Her eyes welled instantly at his words, and Red dipped his head, his jaw clenching in surprise. "I just need to take care of some things," he recovered, barely, before looking at her again. "Lizzy, I want you to know, wherever I am, whatever I'm doing—if you are in need, I will be there."

She was searching his face back now, still trying to reconcile this version of the man in front of her with the one she knew. At least in the church in Baltimore, even through the blood and the gloom and the dark and terrifying circumstances, Red looked like Red. It was suddenly as though she didn't recognize him at all. His assurance did comfort her, though, and Liz nodded briskly in acknowledgement, scrubbing her foot against the ground.

"So," she said, needing to take a step back from the intensity of everything once again while also realizing her boss would probably appreciate at least one second of her acting like an FBI agent in the course of this secret meeting, "you're not going to check in with Cooper at all, then?"

"I haven't decided. Soon, maybe."

"I bet he's wishing that chip was back in you. Who knows, maybe I'll end up getting one of my own at this rate."

"Yes, it is a bit curious they didn't think to replace that when they had the chance," Red pondered. "Helps me out quite nicely for the time being, although those things are an absolute _bitch_ to get out in a hurry, let me tell you."

Liz looked at him, the thought having never crossed her mind when they found him: what it must have taken to get the chip out between the time she was tossed from the ambulance and the moment she found it lying in the street. He finished what was left of his coffee and sniffed, glancing past her in the direction of Dembe.

"I have to go."

"Oh—" Liz tried not to act surprised, "yeah, um. OK."

"Be on the lookout for anything suspicious. And watch your six. Especially at work."

"Yeah." There was so much more Liz needed to know, so much to ask, to say. Why was she letting him go like this?

"Lizzy," Red said then. His eyes were suddenly like flint. "Be careful of your husband."

She stared back at him, a defensive instinct rising in her as she thought of Tom's own pleas the other day.

_You need to walk away from this job before it destroys you._

_I need us, t__ogether. __And safe._

Liz wanted to challenge Red, to implore him to explain what in God's name he meant, once and for all, and yet under those eyes, she found that she could not.

"Stay out of trouble," she told him, lamely.

He smiled, but there was a remoteness to his expression she had never seen before. Not cold, and not disingenuous, yet something vaguely troubling all the same. It was as though he were a million miles away. Or maybe just the opposite: he was very close to something, and he did not want to be.

Liz turned and started back towards the street. And wondered why it was, for all her resentment at this never-ending routine Red had of keeping her in the dark, she felt more and more alone with every step she took from him.

Red's smile faded as he watched Elizabeth recede through the crowd. He returned his attention to the skaters below and considered them for another minute or two before easing himself back off the ledge. Hitching his hood up against the night, he finally moved away.

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><p><strong>END 2?**

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><p>I have stood here before inside the pouring rain<br>With the world turning circles running 'round my brain  
>I guess I'm always hoping that you'll end this reign<br>But it's my destiny to be the king of pain

. . .


	3. In the Wind

**Summary:** Alternate version of events (with some non-alternate dialogue from the show thrown in) for Anslo Garrick - Conclusion on: Red is rescued in the church, but his reprieve is short-lived.

**Disclaimer:** The Blacklist does not belong to me!

I also do not own/have not written any of the lyrics or quotes which may appear as credited within this story; intended usage is merely to complement narrative and thematic elements of my original work.

**A/N:** Standard apologies apply: I know I owe people an ending to something else on here, but also knew this update would be comparatively easier to deliver (whether it actually _was_, mmm, not sure) . . . I should be going back to the other next!

Fun fact for Spaderfans, Philadelphia's Wanamaker Building is where they filmed Mannequin—I have yet to see that one myself (ha, can't wait; he looks crazy in it,) but came across that while confirming other details for this chapter. Some of my earliest memories happen to be from Wanamaker's, so I am a little inordinately obsessed with/attached to this building.

As I always like to throw in, there is definitely a bit of foreshadowing here for a future chapter, whenever that eventually arrives. ;) I do have (and have had) sections of this story up until the ending already written; it's that pesky filling in of the gaps from Point A to Point B that kill me by inches, all day every day.

Onwards and onwards!

* * *

><p><span><strong>III: In the Wind<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>WASHINGTON, D.C.<strong>

The concept of Friday didn't mean much in the life of a federal agent, Liz supposed as she headed to the hospital the next morning, but she was glad it was nonetheless. Upon entering Ressler's room, she found him awake, a rare and openly relieved smile crossing his face at the sight of her. She could see freckles in this light that were not ordinarily visible at work.

"Hey," she greeted, returning the smile even as she let her eyes travel the length of his leg. The one he nearly lost, the one that nearly killed him.

"Hey back," said Ressler. "You're a sight for sore eyes."

Liz drew up a chair. "How you doing?"

"Good, good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I mean I'm alive, and I got my leg, so."

"Right." Liz looked at it again. "How's the pain?" she asked, scrunching her nose.

He raised an eyebrow. "It's a very helpful re_mind_er I still have my leg, but hey." He lifted the PCA pump at his side. "This helps, too."

Liz nodded in sympathy, and something softened in Ressler's expression.

"Seriously, though, Liz, thank God. I've gotten zero updates in here, and when you guys left with Garrick . . ." Just as quickly, he shook his head. "Team found you and Red?" he asked nonchalantly.

Touched, Liz did her best to hide her own reaction to this not-so-subtle recovery. "Well, not exactly—_Red_'s team found Red, but then we lost him again."

"Wait, what?" An unmistakable fear sparked in Ressler's eyes. "Red's still with Garrick?"

Liz looked at him sideways. "No—no, we got him back from Garrick. He disappeared sometime after, though."

"But we've got Garrick at least."

She shook her head. "In the wind."

Ressler's gaze drifted from her.

"What?"

"Nothing," he said, his lips turning down at the corners. "It's just . . . I had a front-row seat to everything between those two, you know?"

"Yeah. That's why I'm here, actually."

Ressler shifted a bit, like he was preparing to get comfortable. "Oh. OK."

"Assuming you're up to it, of course."

"No, yeah. Sure."

Liz gave an appeasing smile and went to retrieve her notepad from her bag. It was then that Ressler noticed the scrapes that were just evident beneath the light makeup on her forehead. "You get a few punches in, at least?" he asked.

Her eyes rolled up in that direction. "Not exactly," she laughed. "I hear you pulled a Mr. Orange back there, though? After we left, how you saved everyone. Showing off."

Ressler gave Liz a look of his own. "Since when are you a _Reservoir Dogs_ fan, Keen?"

"OK," she conceded. "Analogy by Aram."

"Mmm. Thought so."

"Well, thanks anyway. For doing that."

"Hey. Least I could do, you know."

"Yeah. Well," said Liz, tucking her hair behind her ear as she put pen to paper, "I guess basically, if you could just take me through what you remember, you know . . . from what Red said, from what they said to each other."

"OK. Well, I mean, Cooper heard the same in terms of when Red first got to the Post Office. He said that Anslo meant to take him, and that we should all just get the hell out of there."

"Mmm-hmm."

"Then, I got shot," he said with a chagrined smile, and Liz nodded, a similar expression on her face, "and then, we were in the box. And Garrick started talking to him. I was busy trying to stay awake at that point, you know, I mean, I had to focus on something, so I just listened to Garrick's voice. And if anything? Red was underplaying it, Liz." He regarded her fully. "Garrick was serious, OK. He wants Red to pay."

"Pay for—?"

"For whatever led to their falling out. Garrick's face looks like that because of Red. And apparently, he was in prison five years or something, which I'm sure gave him all the downtime he needed to plan for this. I mean, literally, all he kept talking about while we were in there was how much he was looking forward to torturing him."

"OK." Liz frowned as she scribbled.

"How was he, when you found him anyway?" Ressler asked, watching her write. "Well enough to promptly skip town, I guess."

"Oh—yeah. He was pretty banged up, but yeah." She met his eyes. "He asked about you, too," she told him.

Ressler's features lifted. "He did?"

"Oh, my God, Ressler." Liz nearly threw her pen down. "What the hell happened between you two? For real."

He chuckled. "No, it's nothing. It's just . . . well, if you'd have told me a week ago that Red would be pulling out all the stops to save my hide, I mean, I wouldn't believe you for a second. And now that I know he already knew about me and Garrick in Brussels—"

"Whoa—you and Garrick in Brussels?"

"Yeah, at the train station, in Waterloo. The mission to take Reddington out." His head shook briskly. "From the case file."

"Oh. I didn't read through all of it," Liz admitted, suddenly embarrassed, "but I don't remember Garrick's name being mentioned?"

"I don't think it was, at least not officially. Garrick was my contact, though. The one who told me where Red would be that day."

"And Red's saying now that he knew it was you all along."

"Yep."

"You tried to kill him, though," she said, needing to drill this information into her head. "You tried to kill Red."

"Yeah. I almost had him, but he moved. Inches, you know. Milliseconds." Ressler blew softly through his lips. "He moved."

Liz nodded, still processing it.

"Of course, all those heroic measures just to save me, he did threaten to kill me back, the minute your life was at stake. Gun to the head and all."

"Yeah," Liz exhaled, her eyebrows descending. "I gotta be honest, uh . . . I still don't know quite what to make of that." She looked at him. "And he actually slapped you," she informed him, giggling, "before the gun-to-the-head theatrics."

"Oh, yeah?" Ressler laughed back. "Son of a bitch."

Their merriment gave way to a pensive silence as the memories of Tuesday came flooding back. Liz was thinking of Luli—the shock of seeing her lifeless body being dragged out of the way when she was brought down to Anslo; the swath of blood this left behind. The terror she was trying to keep at bay at that point, seeing her boss so helpless, her co-workers so helpless. Red, so helpless. His smile of reassurance at her, forced and sad, after giving Anslo exactly what he wanted.

"What would you say his state of mind was through all of this?" she asked. "When it was just the two of you. Did he seem rattled by the circumstances, or resigned, even?"

"No," Ressler said, remembering. "No, actually, he seemed pretty sure of himself. I said something about not making it out of there, and he said . . . he said he would never let someone like Garrick get the best of him, let alone the end of him."

"Hmm. Sounds like him."

"Yeah. I mean, the things he was talking about, all the things he said he still wanted to do . . . it just made me see him as a person for once, you know?"

"Wow, he made some impression on you," said Liz, feeling an odd pang of something she couldn't quite put her finger on. "What was he saying?"

"I don't know. Maybe I imagined a lot of it," he said with a laugh. "God knows, I was probably half delirious. But yeah." A contemplative look came over his face again. "All of it, though. It's like, I can't help but feel glad on some level now that I missed him that day."

Liz had officially stopped taking notes. Her eyes went to his IV. "OK, whatever you're on here, I want some."

Ressler smiled, but it fell away as her continued to regard her. "We gotta find him, Liz. Before Garrick does."

"'We' don't have to do anything. _You_ need to rest."

"I mean, I know Red can take care of himself, but if he's right, Anslo's got someone on the inside now. Working against us. Which is only gonna make our jobs a hell of a lot more difficult."

"Did Garrick mention anything that would indicate another location? Somewhere we might start looking for him?"

"No, I don't think so. You have any leads on Red?"

Liz shook her head, a twinge of guilt making her wonder if perhaps she should disclose their meeting in New York, but then Red hadn't exactly let her in on any of his plans, either. How had he put it?

_I just need to take care of some things._

She gave a thoughtful frown. "Is it bad, Ressler . . . do you think it's bad I'm kind of hoping he takes these people out? That, some part of me, I don't know—actually wants to see him stay ahead of law enforcement right now?"

Ressler looked to be genuinely considering this, which only reinforced whatever change had seemingly overtaken him. He smirked then. "Well, seeing as we are law enforcement? Yeah. Probably."

"That's what I thought," Liz said with a sigh. "So, when you getting out of here, anyway?

"Pretty soon, I think. They've already started me on PT, so I guess once they see I can get down the hall on crutches without falling on my face, I'm kicked out."

"Yeah," she replied, the image making her smile. "Well, I should probably get back to work. I'll see you soon, OK?"

"OK." Ressler smiled back. "Thanks, Keen."

"No," said Liz. "Thank you."

»»««

**GAITHERSBURG, MARYLAND**

Red was staring at the paramedic—a real one, despite what Lizzy said, the same who had so unceremoniously dug his chip out in the back of that ambulance. He would have guessed that she did, but she just confirmed it for him: she had kids. Unfortunately for the three of them, she was dead now.

"You don't have to stay, deary," Mr. Kaplan said from her crouched position, still focused on the task at hand. "In fact, I think we both know it's better if you don't."

When there was no response, she looked up at him, and watched as his eyes slowly left the body to meet her own. The hollowness of his expression concerned her, even more so than usual. She tried to smile. "You know I won't kick you out, though," she said, returning to her work.

"Mr. Kaplan," he said finally, drawing her attention again. "All of this . . ." He shook his head wonderingly at her. "It's necessary, yes?"

She held his gaze. "The day it no longer occurs to you to ask that question is one I don't wish to see. For now, though? Just think of Ms. Zeng, and you will have your answer."

The mere mention of Luli's name caused Red's vision to blur, and he nodded, nose wrinkling as he looked down at the ground. Newton was seeing to the transport of her ashes as they spoke. He could still feel the softness of her skin from the last time they were together. Still see her across the table from him in Munich, before Donald came in out of nowhere and everything went to hell. She was smiling. At him, at everyone. He had to hold on to that image of her—that image, and that image alone. Not the ones that kept him up at night, the ones that flashed before his eyes in the middle of the day when he least expected it.

Feeling his mouth pulling in ways that it should not, Red signaled Dembe his readiness to go. There was much to do. Later, he decided, he would give old Harold a call after all. The fact Cooper had lost multiple people because of him, not to mention almost died himself, had earned the man at least that. Red turned back in Mr. Kaplan's general direction, giving the dead mother and her permanently staring face one last look.

"I'll see you, Kate," he said quietly.

"See you, Raymond," she replied, watching his back until he was out of sight.

»»««

**WASHINGTON, D.C.**

On Sunday morning, it snowed. Just enough to cover the ground, but they were already calling for more on Tuesday, so it looked like Red's information was good, again. In a city that was known to shut down over a couple of flakes, the rare December dusting did not, however, delay Tom's flight to Nebraska. Liz was still trying to absorb the fact he had a job interview there tomorrow—for such a crazy suggestion, he just seemed so _sure_ of it, somehow.

_We need to leave this place._

One thing she was going to take advantage of with her husband's absence tonight was Indian takeout, something he never seemed to care for very much. Right as she was pouring the raita over her chicken biryani was when the text message came through her phone. The sender was Nick's Pizza; the message reading:

Midnight - edge of Georgetown Waterfront Park closest to bridge

Liz set the phone back down on the counter and brought her bowl and glass of wine over to the table. She almost laughed, but there it was. Probably better Tom was away, seeing as he would be less than enthused about her going off in the middle of a night such as this, and especially after everything that had happened this week.

It didn't take her as long to get down to the park as she thought it would, and she made her way to the westernmost point as instructed, to the last overlook jutting out into the Potomac. There was a light drizzle falling that was starting to glaze the surfaces of the benches and trees. Shivering, Liz looked over at the Key Bridge and the intermittent cars crossing it. She made a mental note to personally thank Red for picking the coldest fucking spot possible to do this. Turning in the other direction, she gazed downriver at the sprawl of the Watergate Complex and the Washington Monument behind it. As her eyes receded, she realized, with a start, there were two figures standing some fifty yards from her on the opposite side of the same overlook. She could just make out the distinctive fedora.

Discreetly, Liz moved behind a tree so as to remain undetected. Red must have been taking care of two birds with one stone, scheduling these meetings back-to-back. She was early, after all. Dembe was nowhere to be seen, and she knew he must be staying out of sight himself. Red was nodding at the ground, apparently listening to whatever the man was telling him. He eventually answered with some response of his own, raising his hands as he spoke.

Another minute passed, and Red's hands didn't seem to be gesticulating anymore so much as they were, strangely, pressing out in front of him. Liz peered harder. When the other man reached into his coat, she knew—and could only watch, in the detached horror that tends to define such moments, as everything unfolded before her eyes.

A spark of muzzle flash, the awful report of two shots fired in rapid succession, and Red doubled over, cradling himself beneath the drifting smoke. With no apparent sense of urgency, his assailant moved towards the street. Red sank to his knees in the snow.

Gripping the tree that shielded her with one hand, Liz gasped into the glove of her other. She frantically searched the area for anyone else, knowing she had to assess the situation but also knowing Red needed her now. Where was Dembe? Her eyes went back to the dark mass that was Red's fallen form. There was no more movement that she could make out.

Liz took off running, the ground landing heavy and invisible underfoot as the sight of him bounced wildly ahead of her. "Oh, my God, oh, my God," she breathed into the frosty, spitting night. Hoping for some miracle, in the face of all signs pointing otherwise, that allowed for the reality she had not just witnessed Red's execution.

"Don't be dead," she prayed. "God, don't be dead. Don't be dead. Don't be dead." Terrified of what she was going to find, she skittered to a halt above him.

"Red! Red!"

From the ground, Red stared up at her. Only, it was not Red at all. And whoever this was was very much alive—blinking stoically, as if he were waiting for her. Liz blinked back in confusion, wondering if perhaps she had finally lost her mind.

"Wh—"

The arms that grabbed her from behind were strong, and she instinctively began to struggle, fighting to free herself until the man she thought was Red got up and eliminated all chances of that completely.

»»««

**PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA**

As the little ones continued to gather in front of him, Dembe continued to wait. The most recent lead on the money behind Garrick's mission had not panned out, and they were just about to leave Philadelphia when they passed the department store of the old Wanamaker Building across from City Hall. Raymond asked if he could have five minutes to himself inside, which Dembe had reluctantly granted. The children settling into spots on the marble floor of the Grand Court soaring 150 feet above them were waiting for the next light show. Dembe watched the clock along with them. Eight minutes had gone by.

Nine.

Ten.

This was quite long enough. Turning, he all but collided with the smaller figure of Raymond, now holding a shopping bag.

"Oh," said Raymond. He held the bag out to him.

"What is this?" Dembe asked.

"An early Christmas present. I'm afraid I'm not going to have the time that I usually do this year, so . . ."

Dembe pushed through the tissue paper and felt something soft. Lifting it out, he saw what Raymond had purchased for him: an enormous, black ushanka. His eyes went over the surface of it to his friend, whose mouth quirked as he seemed to regard it for himself.

"I know," he said. "There's nothing worse than the disillusion of receiving a functional gift. After all these years, I still don't think you are acclimated to our winters, though. I mean," and Red indicated his friend's perfectly shaved head, "you've got even less than I do."

Dembe smiled. "Thank you, Raymond." He was quietly inspecting the hat again, turning it over in his hands. "I love it."

Watching him, Red felt the surge of something familiar and welcome. Dangerous. To think he'd nearly lost _him_, too . . . Anslo needed to die for many things, but daring to take this deceptively fierce, deceptively gentle soul was reason enough.

"You don't," he disputed with a wry smile, "but I'm glad." Red looked up then, admiring the marble arch of the Grand Court's arcade above. "They don't make 'em like this anymore. My parents used to take us here when we visited my aunt." His gaze wandered to the tree and glittering scrim backdrop rising four stories behind it, about to be illuminated with thousands of colored lights. "I do love the light show," he said wistfully. "Oh, well. Maybe next time."

The cell phone Red had buzzed in his pocket as he and Dembe started making their way out of the crowd. He glanced down at the number.

"Lizzy."

"Reddington. It's Cooper."

Red stopped in his tracks, falling behind Dembe. A cold dread seized him, but he hoped the instinct was wrong. Knowing, of course, that it wasn't. "Harold, I told you: I'm not coming back until—"

"Agent Keen has been abducted," interrupted Cooper.

Red's eyes trailed slowly upward to lock on Dembe, who had turned and was waiting for him. "When," he said, the word at once controlled and venomous.

"Last night. You ready to meet now?"

"Yes."

"Good. I'll call you back with a location."

Cooper ended the call, and Red drew the phone from his face, pursing his lips as looked at it. He swung his head up to Dembe.

"Get the car. Now."

* * *

><p><strong>END 3?**

* * *

><p>There's a fossil that's trapped in a high cliff wall<br>That's my soul up there  
>There's a dead salmon frozen in a waterfall<br>That's my soul up there  
>There's a blue whale beached by a spring tide's ebb<br>That's my soul up there  
>There's a butterfly trapped in a spider's web<br>That's my soul up there

. . .


	4. Tonight, Tonight, Tonight

**Summary:** Alternate version of events (with some non-alternate dialogue from the show thrown in) for Anslo Garrick - Conclusion on: Red is rescued in the church, but his reprieve is short-lived.

**Disclaimer:** The Blacklist does not belong to me!

I also do not own/have not written any of the lyrics or quotes which may appear as credited within this story; intended usage is merely to complement narrative and thematic elements of my original work.

**A/N:** No long-winded notes this time, except to say that the physical location I have Anslo holding Liz is a fictional amalgamation of abandoned properties in Passaic, Union, Essex, and Sussex counties in a fictionally imagined version of Point No Point, New Jersey. (Also, I think it's safe to say I am now on any number of watch lists for vandals and/or organized crime, based on the hours I have spent scouting locations and vacant buildings online). Lots of bridges popping up in this story, though, I am finding . . .

Please enjoy and cheers!

* * *

><p><span><strong>IV: Tonight, Tonight, Tonight<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>POINT NO POINT, NEW JERSEY<strong>

The place she was brought was cold, and smelled of damp and metal.

When she was finally deposited in a chair, hands still bound behind her, the hood that had been placed on her head so many hours ago remained. She listened to the voices milling about, at one point hearing someone speaking Spanish in a low English accent. Deep down, she knew it had to be—but some part of her still hoped this was not her worst nightmare coming true.

When the hood was removed, she didn't recognize anyone, and no one answered her questions. She searched their faces, though, these so-called "Wild Bunch" mercenaries, for anyone who looked the slightest bit sympathetic.

When the first pale light of day started filtering in through the windows, the expanse of her new prison was revealed. Peeling columns lined what appeared to be an old—and partially flooded—factory floor. There were strange, rusted vats against one wall, and graffiti marred much of the room's surfaces. The most unsettling message from her vantage point was one in black, above a door:

**I SEE YOU, BUT YOU CAN'T  
>SEE ME<strong>

When the room looked about as bright as it was ever going to be, he showed up. And while his identity didn't surprise her, the sight of Anslo Garrick kneeling in front of her was still a disturbing one to absorb.

"Lizzy."

She eyed him warily.

"I'm glad to have found you again," he smirked, as only his face could. "We're almost back to where we started."

"What do you want?" Liz asked.

"Many things, love. But all in good time. You know, I have to say, it just occurred to me: The man I was on the phone with, before . . . your husband. Does he know about you two?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You and Red."

"Me and Red?"

He held his hand out, as if what he was saying should be obvious.

"Oh—no, it's not like that."

Anslo frowned. "So, you're not . . . ?"

"No."

"Then why in heaven's name would he . . ." Anslo looked at her, and his mouth twisted. "Huh."

"What?"

"Nothing. Nothing." Anslo got up. "I may just need to rethink this, is all."

"He'll come for me, you know," Liz told Anslo's back. "My husband. He'll find me."

"Well, I hope for his sake, love, he does not. Because my men outside will give him a bullet for his troubles if so. Speaking of—how's old Donnie doing these days?"

"He's OK," Liz replied, forcing the image of Tom being shot on sight from her mind. "He's going to be OK."

Anslo was standing over a table, apparently inspecting the contents of it. "Perhaps he'll be coming for you, too. You really have quite the bevy of men on your detail, Lizzy." He glanced over at her. "What is it about you, exactly? I do hope to find out in our time together here."

"Actually, the most likely 'man' to come after me is my employer, Anslo. The FBI? You and I both know, you don't get out of this thing."

He shifted his body, and she could see there was a tool of some sort in his hands.

"I don't want to hurt you, Lizzy," Anslo told her. "But I'll do what I have to."

»»««

**WASHINGTON, D.C.**

"Do not worry, Raymond. We shall find her. Just as we found you."

He was trying to be helpful, but Red's mind was racing as Dembe drove. Blindly, his eyes caught and followed the trees whizzing by. All he could hear was what Anslo had said, before his team—before Lizzy—had come to his rescue.

_You know what I can do, though, Red? I can find Lizzy. I can hurt her. I can make her suffer. And when I'm finished, I can kill her._

Red ran his hand across his mouth, trying not to picture what she may or may not look like at the moment. "Yeah," he replied finally.

They pulled into the underground garage of the Post Office—the absolute last place Red wished to be right now, but Harold had argued it was the most secure location he could offer. He'd personally gone over his office inch by inch to make sure it wasn't bugged. Deeper than that, though, Red got the impression Cooper didn't trust any location of Red's choosing. Plus, Liz was taken from the District anyway. Red needed to come in.

The large eyes of Agent Mojtabai lifted from his workstation as he and Dembe were escorted to Harold's office. Turning from where he stood, the assistant director's face was grim, exhausted.

"Glad I was able to get in touch with you," he said, waggling Liz's cell phone. "They picked this up in Georgetown Waterfront Park." He placed it on the corner of his desk, nudging it an inch closer to Red.

Red looked down at it as though it were an object from outer space.

"There's a text that was sent to her," said Cooper, "to meet there. Sender, Nick's Pizza?"

Red met his gaze. Harold may have been spent, but he was clearly doing his best to not explode on him.

"Kind of strange a pizza place would ask her to come out in the middle of the night, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes," said Red. "I have been communicating with Agent Keen via cell phone, but he must have . . . somehow, he—"

"'He'?"

"It's Garrick, Harold. It has to be Garrick."

"And Garrick hacked into your communications with Agent Keen? How?"

"I don't know. I've never known Anslo to engineer something like this. Like I said before, he's a blunt-force object."

"Right. Only now that blunt-force object has one of our own."

Red hesitated. "You couldn't have stopped—"

"I'm responsible for her, Reddington!" Harold exclaimed, his face incredulous while Red averted his entirely. "She's my agent. Not yours. Despite whatever little pet project you consider her to be."

"I'm sorry," Red offered. "Believe me, I'm gonna make this right."

Cooper swiped at his brow. "Look, I have to run into a meeting with Diane. She called it right before you got here. Just—don't do anything without us, all right? I need you on this."

"You know I can't promise that, Harold."

"Try."

Red's smile was noncommittal. He replaced his hat and headed back downstairs. Aram was standing now, and he spoke without looking at him as he passed.

"Mr. Reddington."

Red stopped and turned. Forcing himself, Aram met his waiting stare.

"You'll find her," he said, a lilting hope in his uncertain voice. "Won't you?"

Reddington looked at him, and nodded purposefully. "Yes, Aram," he replied. "I will."

»»««

**POINT NO POINT, NEW JERSEY**

Anslo came back from conferring with his men with a phone in one hand and a scrap of paper in the other. "So," he said, "either your boss has the phone we cloned from Red to text you, or Red still has it on him. My money's on the latter." He began punching in the number.

Liz watched him. "What was the point of all that at the park?" she asked. "The Red impersonator?"

"Just to make sure you'd be well disoriented. Seems to've done the trick?" he added, cocking his head at her while he waited for someone to answer.

"Red," Anslo greeted. Relieved and worried at once, Liz searched Anslo's unabashedly triumphant face. "How are things? Yes. Well, I'm sure you've been expecting a call from me. She is indeed." He turned from where he was pacing. "Scream," he mouthed.

Liz set her own mouth in a line, and watched as Anslo's eyes went cold. He moved towards her and covered the phone with his hand. "I'll make you one way or another," he warned. "Do it now."

Having never attempted a halfhearted scream before, Liz gave it her best shot and let out a yelp. She didn't need to see the pained grimace on the other end of the line, however, to realize she may have sold it a bit too well.

"Now," Anslo was saying, "I won't even make you work for this one, Red. I'm going to tell you exactly where we are. Somewhere that will take more than a hop and a skip for your precious task force to pop in on us, and less than a hop and a skip for me to slip these shores. You just set your coordinates for New York. I thought 'Elizabeth' was a little on the nose, but we are right next door," he divulged with a smile. "I'll text you the location en route. God bless technology, eh?"

The thought of being delivered from this place faded when Liz heard Anslo's next words: "Oh, and if I see one of your new friends, she dies. No FBI, not even Dembe. I know you're working with a skeleton crew now," he taunted, and Liz could just see Red setting his jaw wherever he was, "so. You'll hardly miss one teammate at your side, will you. And I know you're not stupid: the two of you against my men don't stand a snowball's chance anyway. You almost got Dembe killed once in recent days—are you so willing to risk him again?"

In mute dismay, Liz could only guess what Red's answer was going to be.

"No one but you, old friend," Anslo reiterated. "Or I kill Lizzy. I may just do that anyway, but I will do it immediately in that scenario. I'd rather _watch_ you watch me kill her, of course, but it would still serve to make you miserable in the end." He held Liz's stare, listening to Red and nodding as if she were the one speaking.

"Fair enough. See you soon," he concluded.

»»««

**WASHINGTON, D.C.**

Red glanced at his watch. He had four hours of driving ahead of him, when he and Dembe had been a mere hour and a half from North Jersey before. The jet made the most sense, but his movements were more likely to be discovered that way, no matter what kind of precautions were taken.

He looked at Dembe then. Necessary as it was, he couldn't fathom how he was going to leave him behind. Gathering his coat to himself, he crossed back to where Dembe was standing.

"That was Garrick," Red confirmed. "I know where they are. Or, at least, I will very shortly." He paused. "And you can't come with me."

The confused expression on his friend's face quickly morphed into one of protest. "No—Raymond, no. That is what he wants."

"More or less," Red admitted. "But I'll think of something. I always do, right?"

Dembe shook his head. "Not this time. Your mind is clouded."

"Actually, I feel a remarkable clarity about it all," said Red, and his own head slowly went from side to side. "No more deaths on my head, Dembe. Not now, and not the least of which is going to be yours. When Luli—" His voice wavered instantly on the word, and he started nodding in a transparent attempt at covering.

With only the fedora to meet his gaze, Dembe waited. "That was not your fault, Raymond," he assured him.

"Yeah." Red looked up again. "Technically, it was Anslo's, but everything I did, everything I've done, led Luli right to that spot. And I'll be paying for that the rest of my life. Now," he sighed, "I know you'll come after me eventually, but it is imperative—absolutely imperative—that I show up there alone. All right?"

Dembe was clearly seething, and Red glanced away, letting the silence settle between them. "He's not going to kill me on the spot, Dembe," he murmured, a small smile accompanying the glint of amusement in his eye. "He wants it to be slow, and excruciating. He told me so himself."

But Dembe was not smiling back. He was thinking of the last time he'd lost Raymond to Anslo, and how it had felt to watch them go. Now he was about to relive that same moment. Only now it was worse, because Raymond was actually asking him to let it happen.

"Dembe. If you love me—" Red pressed his lips together. "If you respect me," he continued gravely, "you will do this for me. It's important to me."

"I know she is," Dembe told him, his substitution seamless. "But Elizabeth would not want this, either."

"Yeah." Red sniffed at the leaden sky, his mouth falling open to breathe in the cold air. "Well. She will learn to live with it. She has to."

»»««

**POINT NO POINT, NEW JERSEY**

The drive was tedious, as he knew it would be. He didn't even realize he had the radio on until a familiar song, "I'll Be Home for Christmas" by Johnny Mathis, came over the local, all-Christmas station. His parents used to play that record every year, and he'd made it a part of his own collection as an adult. Gosh, he hadn't heard this since . . . Red turned the dial, absently letting Genesis's "Tonight, Tonight, Tonight" serve as the soundtrack to his rambling thoughts instead.

_Wait is over, Red. People are dying now._

Liz had even told him—she'd _told_ him she was worried about Garrick coming for her, and what did he do to protect her? Fuck all.

It started to snow shortly after 95 merged into the Jersey Turnpike, and Red eased off the gas. The last thing he needed was to get into an accident right now.

Eventually, Anslo's directions began to run out. And if the town of Elizabeth was a little too cute, the final exit made Red close his eyes and shake his head: Raymond Boulevard. Almost at the river, Red followed the snow-covered drive that led to the abandoned factory. He stopped some distance away and put the car in park, staring up at it. Fat flakes continued to fall and dissolve on the windshield without a sound.

His heart was in his ears.

He concentrated on breathing, on converting that fear to something useful, something productive. He could do this. He always got what needed to be done, done. Even when he was betrayed, ambushed, walked into things he shouldn't have—his combined training and instincts had always seen him through. He would need some luck, as always, but if things worked out just so, the way they _had_ to . . . Elizabeth would be home in the end.

Red stepped out of the car and put on his hat. The snow cast a lovely, unnatural silence over everything. At the sight of the railroad bridge that stretched just over the Passaic here, he thought of his own favorite quote from _It's a Wonderful Life_:

_You know what the three most exciting sounds in the world are? Anchor chains, plane motors, and train whistles._

Here, Red mused, was a spot one might truly appreciate all three. Around the river bend to his south, the Pulaski Skyway loomed dark and massive in the night. Shifting his gaze past Jersey City to Manhattan, he found the Empire State Building, and he lingered a moment to soak it all in. Not a bad one, he decided, as far as these things went. Over the years, under similar circumstances, there had been worse views to remember the world by.

A short whistle pierced the air. He turned and counted four of Anslo's mercenaries tracking him from their various posts. Under the shelter of his hat, Red smiled through the snow.

"Gentlemen," he greeted back.

* * *

><p><strong>END 4?**

* * *

><p>And I got this black suit on<br>Roaming around like I'm ready for a funeral  
>Five more miles till the road runs out<p>

~ frank ocean, "swim good"


End file.
